“All of you shut up,” Dan barked. “Chels and Zoelner, you two picking everything up on my end?” He waited a tick, then said, “Good, so now everyone listen to this.”
He clicked on the digital recording at the same time Meat Loaf began “praying for the end of time.” The instant Kozlov’s voice sounded, however, the music back in Chi-Town was muted. And then for a couple of minutes, there was nothing but the rolling echo of Kozlov’s fluid Russian filling the bathroom. Again, when the man’s recorded voice distinctly said “Winterfield,” Penni’s skin started crawling.
“Well?” Dan asked, thumbing off the digital recorder. “What was that all about? What did he say?”
“He asked whoever he was talking to if they thought their Intel was reliable,” Vanessa said. “They must have convinced him it was, because he’s going to be in the Plaza San Francisco ninety minutes from now where he will, and I quote, ‘Get Winterfield and finally, after so many years, bring justice to Mother Russia.’” She managed a fairly spot-on Arnold Schwarzenegger impersonation on that last part.
“Pretty sure the Governator is Austrian, not Russian,” Ozzie added quite unhelpfully.
Dan ignored Ozzie and thanked Vanessa for her translation before turning off his cell phone and shoving it back into his hip pocket. “Okay,” he said. “So it sounds like Kozlov and his trusty T/C Contender are in town to ensure Winterfield takes a dirt nap.” Penni knew by the way Dan cocked his head that he wasn’t talking to her, instead lending an ear to Zoelner and Chelsea’s responses.
“Nope. I’m done with code names. You’re just gonna hafta get over the superstitious mumbo jumbo,” Dan said, no doubt responding to something Chelsea said. “Winterfield, Winterfield, Winterfield. There. It’s done. We’re moving on.”
Penni rolled in her lips. Even in the middle of a heart-pounding mission, they were an entertaining trio. And given a different set of circumstances, she would have liked to simply sit and watch them all spar and bicker.
A few more moments passed while Dan listened to his partners. Then he blurted, “How the hell would I know why? Maybe in all that shit Winterfield stole there was something on the Russians. Maybe the Russians got wind he planned to sell that something, and they wanna make sure he finds out what’s behind Door Number One”—Door Number One being the coffin lid—“before he can do the deal. Whatever the reason, it sounds like the Russians think Winterfield is gonna be in or around Plaza San Francisco in the next ninety minutes. So what’s the plan?”
Then the three of them ran through some options. Since Penni was only hearing a third of the conversation, she was hopelessly lost. She clued in to at least some of their thinking when Dan said, “If that happens, it’ll be our lucky day. We can be in the air headed for the States in thirty minutes. Now, where should we meet?” A beat of silence, then, “Roger. That’s a good idea. I remember the place. See you both in a bit.” The way he smashed his words together made it sound more like see y’both inna bit.
Before she could ask what exactly they had come up with—not that it was any of her business, but her curiosity was absolutely killing her—he propped his foot on the edge of the claw-foot tub and pulled up the hem of his Levis to reveal his ankle holster. Inside was a Bersa Thunder CC handgun. It was small, meant for concealed carry. But with an eight-round magazine that held .38-caliber bullets, it was still mean enough and deadly enough to persuade most guys to rethink any less-than-gentlemanly impulses.
“If I was going with my big, bad, protect-the-woman instincts,” he said, pulling the weapon from its holster and seeming to weigh it in his hand at the same time he weighed his thoughts, “I’d ask you to stay here where you’d be safe.” He passed her the gun. She hesitated to take it, but when she finally did, she noticed the metal was warm from his body. “But after what happened in Kuala Lumpur, you have as much right as anyone to be there when we capture Winterfield.”
Her mouth dropped open. Her eyes flew wide. Everything inside her came to a screeching halt except for her stomach. It turned upside down and spewed hot, stinging bile up the back of her throat.
Sweet Christ.
Dan cocked his head, his eyes narrowing into considering slits. “That is,” he said, “if you wanna be there.”
The image of her partner Julia’s charred corpse flashed before her eyes, causing a lump the size of the Rock of Gibraltar to form in her chest. The memory of that night, of seeing her friends reduced to ash and gore, cut into her like it always did. Like shrapnel. Leaving her bleeding and disoriented.